A Talk
by sissyHIYAH
Summary: Both a bit broken, Quistis and Irvine share a few words during their travels.  In-game, pre-Trabia.


Irvine leaned toward the flames, close enough to warm the leather on his palms but not close enough to burn his favorite gloves. He was tired, beat-down and dog-tired as they said back home, but it had been a pleasant evening, all things considered. Their motley group had walked for miles, but the earth was flat and densely packed in most places, giving their legs a much-welcomed break from the hills of the previous few days. Camp was up, the weather was clear and cool, and all had their bellies full.

Squall was resting with his gunblade across his knees and his back against an oak, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Irvine considered waking him, then changed his mind. Even though it was their leader's turn to be on watch, it was refreshing to hear the brooding young man be quiet for once. There was nothing of expectation or impatience in this silence, only a quiet calm that was much different from his usual sullen attitude. He decided to let him sleep a bit longer. Things were...easier without him in some ways, even though he was proving to be indispensable. Irvine watched him for another moment and wondered if he even realized how much stress he caused, especially for the girls.

Well, all the girls except for Selphie. The only thing she was stressing about was how boring it was to do nothing but walk, walk, walk. She was ready to _be _there already. Disgusted with the lack of conversation around the campfire and loudly complaining about the cool night air, she had long ago retired to her tent. Though she had been jabbering about avoiding the 'vampire moths of death' hovering over the fire, he was fairly certain she did it so that Rinoa could follow her without being the first to bed. Selphie was a real sweetheart that way. The rich girl had been limping for hours, though she was quick to say that she was perfectly fine. She had been in so much pain at the evening meal that she wouldn't even eat, instead sitting just outside the circle of firelight with a cool cloth around her ankles. He was willing to bet those expensive boots she wore were wearing enormous blisters in her feet. Poor kid. He had to give her credit for keeping up with everyone, but she was being downright foolish when it came to proving whatever point she felt she needed to prove. Her dog refused to leave her side, even when Irvine tried to toss her a bit of jerky.

The short fellow and his crush on some nameless girl were almost as entertaining as Selphie's rants. It was kind of cute how he would never mention her name, but he'd go on and on about her hair and her smile. Not that he liked her or anything. Oh no. Nothing like that. He just had an appreciation for nice hair and smiles. Since he was so shy about asking for romantic advice, Irvine said nothing when he mumbled something about going to bed to record the number of miles hiked that day in his battered exercise journal. The boy was so exhausted that he hadn't even realized that he said 'write a letter to her miles', but Irvine wasn't going to mention it. Mr. Romance would figure it out in the morning when he realized that his love letter had become a chronicle of how far they had traveled instead of a tribute to her pretty eyes.

Digging into his pocket, Irvine pulled out a small package of cigarette papers and a waterproof tin emblazoned with a fiery red feather. He laid the tin between his feet and peeled a paper away from the rest of the pack. A practiced spin of his thumbs and an expert lick sealed a thin cigarette that he quickly placed between his lips. He pulled a match from the brim of his hat and carefully balanced it on his tobacco tin. His traveling companions were an odd bunch. They snarled whenever he lit a cigarette, all of them obnoxiously health conscious, but they wouldn't say a word to him about it. Pretty damned cowardly, to his way of thinking. If it bothered them, they should at least have the balls to say that it did. The only one that ever said anything was the leggy blonde sitting across from him, methodically polishing the links on her worn chain whip. The gal just didn't like him, even though he was as charming as he knew how to be with her.

Tonguing the end of his cigarette, Irvine rolled it over his lower lip and drawled, "Did I ever tell ya 'bout the time I tried to learn how to use a whip?"

Quistis answered without looking at him. "A whip? You?"

"Yes ma'am."

"No." She didn't care at all to hear another of his wild tales, but his voice was soothing and he was talking directly to her. Nobody really talked to her. They asked her questions, sure. But an actual conversation? She almost laughed at how desperate he must think her. "Tell me about it."

"Ain't much to tell. Spent all mornin' out in some field, swingin' that damned chunk of leather at everythin' that moved. All I ended up with a sore arm and a helluva sunburn." He lit the cigarette, held the puff of smoke in his lungs for a few seconds, then released an impressive ring over his head that swiftly disappeared into the darkness beyond. "And I may or may not have a scar on my left ass cheek from a wayward whip lash."

"You what?"

Irvine winked. "Now Miss Trepe, don't you go tellin' no one 'bout that. I'd offer to show you, but I don't think a lady like yourself needs to see my most vulnerable bits...even if they are very, very nice."

That was certainly an entertaining image. Quistis wondered if he really would show her.

Who was she kidding? Of course he would.

"Well, successfully striking a target with a bullwhip is more difficult than it appears. It requires a fair bit of practice before one can even attempt stationary objects, much less..."

"Yup." Irvine smiled and took another puff. "Heh. There was this awfully purty butterfly that kept flyin' by. Blue, as I recall. Kinda sparkled a bit, like it flew up outta the bottom of a river or somethin'. I'd swing and he'd scoot on past like it weren't nothin'."

"Why were you trying to hit a poor butterfly?"

"Don't rightly know, ma'am." He had thought about it many times since then, how those iridescent wings shimmered against the heavens and how many hours he spent chasing that damned bug. He hated that butterfly for being so beautiful. Would Quistis hate him if he told her that he wanted to destroy it because it was so pretty? That it was so captivating that even the wispy memories of his mother were further dimmed by its beauty? Would she hate him if he told her these things and then told her that her eyes were the same color as his butterfly? "All I know is I wanted to knock it clear out the sky. I guess that's what lil' boys do when they see somethin' purty."

"Out of the sky, huh."

Cigarette now so short it was threatening to burn his lips, he tossed it into the fire and leaned back on his palms. "Ain't that why you started usin' that one you got in your lap right now?"

"To chase butterflies? Hardly."

He tipped his hat forward so she wouldn't see his eyes. He wanted her to see his smile, and only his smile. He recognized a fellow card player and wasn't sure he had the skill to let her see his eyes when he threw his hand on the table. As much as she lied to herself, she saw things and knew the truth of them. He had a couple more lies to tell first. "You sure about that? Seems like you're chasin' one right now."

She stiffened. "I don't know what you mean by that."

"No..." He glanced to the outer edge of the firelight, where Squall's head had fallen onto his chest. "I reckon you don't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She knew that he knew then and wanted to run.

"Hm?" He stretched, relaxed his limbs, seemingly became liquid. Something told him that she didn't like to be ignored and she hated to see someone at ease. She could only have peace when she had a fight on her hands. "Oh, not much."

"Not much is still something."

"Yep, that's true." And there it was. She was showing her teeth. She hid them with everyone else, but he wasn't her charge and he wasn't her student. She could be honest with him. "Why're you even out here? You ain't nobody's teacher."

"How do you know about..."

"How'd I know 'bout your job?" She said nothing, just sat there with those big blue eyes open and unblinking. Irvine was glad for that. Had she blinked, she would have reminded him of the teasing flutters of what he once tried to destroy. "Mister Somber over there ain't as quiet as you think if you'd learn to listen the right way."

_That _stung. "He told you about...?"

"No. Heard that rich girl askin' 'bout you and he told her."

"He told her." It wasn't a question.

"Yep." He scooted his heel against the earth and watched the minute grains of quartz flicker as they caught the light. "But that job ain't what I meant."

"Well, it's none of your concern, so if you don't mind..."

"I reckon you musta been a purty bad teacher, if you'll 'scuse me for bein' so blunt, ma'am."

"I guess..." It was whispered, soft, barely noticeable. Had he not been paying such close attention, he might have missed it entirely. He thought she would rage and curse, maybe throw that whip at his head, but this calm acceptance wasn't what he expected. Apparently he wasn't the first to tell her this.

"I don't mean no harm, 'specially not to a lady as fine as yourself."

"Right."

Was she even aware that he was still talking to her?

"Well, you are mighty young, so I reckon you could still..."

She was up and stepping over him before he could react. He couldn't have known how much of her pride, how much of her identity was bound to what she had done at such a young age. To know that she was indeed too young, like her competition told her after she beat him...

She stumbled over his legs, so he took the opportunity to grab her wrist and jerk her down next to him. "Sit yer ass back down, ma'am."

Had she been anyone else, she would have struggled against him and ran away, but Quistis just wasn't like that. Irvine half expected her to magically produce a day table and a fresh pot of tea just so she could glare at him over the cups. "I have nothing more to say to you, Kinneas."

"I ain't askin' you to say nothing, ma'am. I just wanna talk to you for a spell. Ain't you ever just wanted someone to listen to you for a bit without gittin' all huffy?"

Her jaw clenched in something far removed from anger. "Fine. Talk."

Fumbling through Selphie's bag, he produced a water tin and sloshed a mouthful of red liquid into his mouth. Generous with someone else's supplies, he offered the canteen to Quistis with a quizzical expression. "Want some of this, uh...? What the hell is this, anyway?"

"That's an electrolyte rehydration complex designed to replenish the compounds lost through perspiration in..."

He looked into the bottle as if the beverage might crawl out and try to drown him. "Hell! I was just askin' if it was cherry or fruit punch!"

"Punch?"

He laughed. She was somewhere far away from their little campfire conversation. "Ya know... punch. A flavor."

"Flavor..."

He tried to speak her language. "Little... uh, chemicals attached to uh, molecules and such that uh, make a reaction o' some sort when they hit yer tongue."

"I know very well what flavor means."

He shrugged when she declined the canteen again. "Ya coulda fooled me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothin' at all." Good. She was coming back to him. He rolled another smoke, lit it, then removed his hat and placed it on his knee. Steadying the cigarette on the brim, he flipped the far edge of his hat and caught the glowing cylinder in his mouth.

"Don't.!" She shook her head when he wiggled his eyebrows in a very boastful manner. He was actually _proud _of himself for nearly scorching his tongue, the damned idiot. She was grateful that Seifer wasn't with them. They would have no doubt burned the forest to the ground in some testosterone-fueled smoking contest. "Urgh. Never mind."

"Want one?" He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke into that wafting lazily from the fire.

"No. It's hardly responsible behavior for a..." For an instructor, she nearly added.

"For a what, ma'am?"

Ugh. He knew what she meant anyway. Who the hell did this Irvine Kinneas think he was? Talking with him was almost like talking to Seifer. "Fine. Roll one for me too."

He prepared her cigarette and lit it for her, impressed when she didn't cough a lung into his lap. Then again, she was the one that caught the full-blast of that marlboro's breath a few nights ago, so a few puffs of plain ol' tobacco smoke must have been nothin' to her.

They smoked in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the whistling songs of unseen nocturnal insects. Irvine added a few pieces of wood to the fire and asked, "Ya got a fella waitin' for you when you get back home?"

Quistis nearly choked. "A what?"

"A fella. Purty gal like you 's bound to have 'em lined up for miles and miles."

"No."

"Why not?"

She was careful to not look in Squall's direction before she simply answered. "I just don't."

"That's a dirty shame right there. A man'd have to be a damned rotten polecat to not want a lady like you."

"A _what_?"

Irvine nudged her arm with his elbow. "Ya mean to tell me a smart gal like you don't know a polecat when ya see one?"

Visions of spear-wielding tigers marched through her mind. "I don't even know what sort of creature that _is_, much less be able to recognize one on sight!"

Eager to impress with his knowledge, Irvine cleared his throat and enlightened his bewildered pupil. "Well, a polecat is a nasty lil' varmint all dressed up in a black fur coat. Stinks to high heavens, rolls around in filth, eats worms and bugs, covered in fleas..."

Hearing a shuffle and a yawn at the other end of camp, he noticed Squall's drowsy return to the land of the living. "They're kinda short and stubby too."

Smiling sadly, Quistis poked at the embers and muttered, "They sound dreadful."

"Yes'm. They are loathsome _and_ vile, if I do say so myself. I sure as hell wouldn't want one in _my _sleepin' roll tonight."

"No?"

He draped an arm over her shoulders and flashed her his most winning grin. "Naw. I'd rather have a purty blonde with blue eyes and a nice smile sharin' my tent."

"Well, Zell is sleeping right over there. Shall I inform him that you are in need of a bunking partner?"

"You done gone and cut me to the quick. Ain't gonna get a wink of sleep tonight."

Quistis chuckled and leaned into his side. She would never admit it and Irvine would never say it, but they both needed that small bit of comfort the other provided just then. "That makes two of us."

Still dazed from lack of real sleep, Squall stumbled to their spot by the fire and clapped his hand on Irvine's shoulder. "Kinneas. Your turn for watch."

"Yes sir."

"And you need to get some rest, Quistis. We're leaving before daybreak and I don't want anything slowing us down."

"I..." Quistis opened her mouth, then promptly closed it. Squall didn't notice. He blearily tumbled into the tent he shared with Zell and fell asleep with his boots jutting from the open tent flap.

"Well, I reckon that's my cue." Kissing Quistis' fingers, Irvine stood from his comfortable position and stretched his arms overhead. "Evenin', ma'am. Best for you to get some rest, like the boss says."

"Hey, Kinneas?"

He paused in mid-stretch. "Hm?"

"I'm taking the final watch."

Removing his hat and holding it to his heart in perfect imitation of his gallant movie heroes, Irvine crooned, "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. Ain't gentlemanly at all."

"I didn't ask you to let me." Quistis knocked his hand away when it seemed he meant to help her up. She had no intention of resting, not when she had so much to consider. "I said I'm taking it."

"Mm! Keep talkin' like that and I may not care about bein' a gentleman anymore."

"Ugh." Grinning in spite of herself, Quistis pushed him towards her tent so he wouldn't be crowded in the same large one with the other guys. "Go to sleep, Irvine."

"Sleep? I won't be able to sleep, dreamin' of your soft lips and..."

"You'll sleep on your own or I'll knock you out. Unlike you, I'm very good with a whip."

"Is that a fact? Are you willin' to demonstrate just how good you...?"

"For the love of..."

Irvine blew her a kiss. "Alright. I'm goin', I'm goin'. You're breakin' my heart, just so ya know."

"Good."

"Good? That ain't good! You're a cruel woman!"

Quistis laughed for what felt like the first time in her life. "Good night, Irvine. I'll see you in the morning."

Note: Hoo boy! I've been away from this site for a while! Oodles of updates on the way, but I just had to get this oneshot finished first. I always thought it was kind of weird that Quistis just suddenly decided that she was over Squall. It seemed pretty sudden, at least to me. So I figured Irvine might have had a talk with her, since he's super-observant and all. And for any that don't know, a polecat is kind of like a skunk. As Irvine said, they're nasty little critters.


End file.
